


Roads

by PompousPickle



Category: THE iDOLM@STER, The iDOLM@STER Sidem
Genre: Angst, Character Study, Found Family, Gen, SideM Writing Challenge 2018, Written to be Gen but TakeRen is vaguely implied somewhere in there
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-25
Updated: 2018-06-25
Packaged: 2019-05-28 16:04:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,502
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15052850
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PompousPickle/pseuds/PompousPickle
Summary: Sometimes an intersection is just a place where three roads meet, converge, and become stronger.[THE Kogadou Character Study]





	Roads

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the SideM Writing Challenge on the prompt "On the path we made together, or On the path I made alone". Thank you as always to the lovely Rokarca for helping beta! 
> 
> kogadou good.

“Yo! Taiga! We’re heading out to get dinner. You coming?” Hirota asked as he packed up his boxing gloves for the evening. He nodded towards the other students of the gym, waiting for him to finish up. Takeru looked over to them, bowing apologetically before turning back to Hirota.

“I appreciate the offer,” he said simply, grabbing a towel to dry himself off. His gloves were slung around his shoulders, sweat soaking through his white tank top. Still, he showed no signs of slowing down. He ran the towel over his hair. “I ate before coming today. I have a weigh-in next week.”

Hirota nodded in understanding, reaching over to ruffle Takeru’s hair playfully. The other boxer merely ducked out of the way, causing the young man to laugh. “Trying to cut down still, huh? I guess it makes sense with a guy your size. Sticking to a shorter weight class sure is a pain, huh? Still, you’re gonna have to come out with us at _some_ point, alright?”

Takeru frowned. They were always going on about that. He went out for meals with everyone after major competitions, of course. It was customary and polite. But he kept a strict diet the rest of the time. He planned his meals and kept firm track of the calories he both burned and consumed. He couldn’t afford to go out every other night just for the sake of comradery.

Besides, he wasn’t _that_ short, he thought with a small huff.

“Sure,” he finally agreed. “After I win the next tournament,” he said firmly, uncaring of the way Hirota stared at him. He was going to win. He had been working too hard not to. And he didn’t care the force of his willpower intimidated or turned away some of his fellow boxers in the process.

“Alright, it’s a deal then. See ya, Taiga,” Hirota laughed again, this time awkward and stilted.

Takeru only nodded and waved as he went to go join some of the other students. When they were gone, he turned to head back to the bag room to practice jabs. He wasn’t lying; he really did appreciate the offer. He just needed to keep himself slim in order to stay in a class where everyone was around his height. He could take on taller opponent, of course. But it was easier at a lower weight class. And more wins meant more money. And more money meant…

“Gym’s closing in an hour, Takeru,” Nekota-san’s voice pulled the boy from his pondering as he tied his boxing gloves back on. Takeru looked up at his coach and nodded, smiling a little as he turned to the punching bag, adjusting his stance.

“I won’t be long,” he assured the man. “It just helps, I think. When the gym is abandoned like this.” It was easier to block everything out when it was just him and the bags. Sparring was great for defense and counters, but nothing helped his jabs and timing better than when he had the whole world to himself. When everything else just seemed to slip away. When he didn’t need to be around others, just this once.

“It’s always the next match, with you.” The man chuckled and shook his head, walking up to check the ties on the punching bag before Takeru began his jab exercises. “I know it’s not my place, but as your couch I can’t help but wonder if you could stand to socialize more.”

Takeru paused, relaxing his shoulders and furrowing his brow.

Nekota shook his head and sighed, propping himself against the windowsill, looking out at the setting sun over the gym parking lot. “I admire your passion and your youth. I always have. And I won’t pretend to understand what it is that drives you to fight so passionately. But…I do worry that there will come a time where you can’t fight anymore. And you’ll have nothing left.”

Takeru respected Nekota-san. More than most people. More than anyone. The man taught him so much. He pulled him up when he was so bitter. He was angry at everything. He was angry at himself for losing track of his siblings. He was angry at his parents for leaving the three of them. He was angry at the world for forgetting all about him. All he wanted to do was fight. All he _could_ do was fight. And Nekota taught him exactly how to channel that into something worthwhile.

“I just want you to have goals outside of this, Takeru. Something you want. Someone to connect to.”

Takeru closed his eyes, trying to focus his emotions into a fighting drive. He clenched his fists inside his gloves, taking a long breath through his nose. He just needed to focus on the weigh-in. And then the match. And then the match after that. And the one after that.

“I’m afraid you’ll end up lonely if you continue walking down this road.”

Takeru did the only thing he knew how to do when the emotions became too much: he opened his eyes, spread his feet, pulled up his fists, and hit the bags.

 ---

“Steady your form, Ren.”

“It _is_ steady! My form is perfect!” Ren nearly snapped, but he held his stance as hard as he could, locked in and focused. “This is so stupid, Old Man. I’ve been doing this for _hours_.”

“Kizaki-sensei,” his father corrected with a humorless laugh. Ren rolled his eyes with a dramatic sigh. Kizaki-sensei was what the amateur students called the man. And Ren was _definitely_ not an amateur. “It’s been sixteen minutes.”

“Hah?!” Ren immediately dropped form, scrambling for his phone to check the time. Not even thirty minutes of his punishment had passed. He groaned in both astonishment and frustration. He would be thirty years old before he was done going through the basic stances. He just wanted to get back to sparring.

“Form, Ren! Start from the top! _Wuji Zhuang!_ ” His father barked back at him.

Ren let out a loud nasally whine as he went back to standing firm with his arms at his side, starting the practice all over again. This was a nightmare. He already knew this stuff. He could shift his center of gravity around in his sleep, and had more than enough trophies and championships to prove it. Only babies needed these exercises anyway. He spat as he raised his arms up and shifted his energy forward. “This is too easy. This is beneath a genius like me!”

“As usual, you’re both right and wrong. This is far too easy for a pupil of your skill level and talent.” Kizaki-sensei nodded sadly, tilting his head as he watched Ren’s next form change. Ren bristled at the compliment, pleased that the old man had _some_ eye for skill left in him. “But the basics are never beneath anyone, not even the masters. Especially a child who can’t get through a friendly spar without trying to damage his opponent.”

Ren hissed. What did he know? He was just some stuffy old man. He turned his head to look away from him, knowing full well that this would throw off his stance. He dropped himself back to the beginning of the exercise, sparing himself the lecture. “He wasn’t showing me his full strength. He could do better and he knew it. He was making a mockery of me and it was pissing me off,” his voice started to elevate all over again as he said it. Impatiently, he rushed through the first three stances and pulled himself into the fourth, tired of going through all the boring stuff.

“Ren,” his father warned, trying to sound gentle. “Your _shen_ is bright; you have a keen and focused fighting spirit. But you never harmonize it properly. You always seek the movement, but never the stillness.” Ren only rolled his eyes and dropped his arms again with a groan. His fingers began to ache, his blood thrumming and heart beating quicker and quicker. His entire body was itching to actually _do_ something. He didn’t learn martial arts just to stand around and talk about energy and peace and _oneness._

“The hell are you even _saying_? I’m perfectly harmonized! I’m the best harmonizer in the dojo. I’m the _king_ of harmon…” he paused for a moment, not sure of the correct word. “of harmonizationing!” he finished, pleased with himself.

He shifted his stance again, kicking his leg out into the air before landing on the other foot. He knew that wasn’t in the routine, but he didn’t care. He was going to lose his mind if he had to do this any longer. It had to be nearly dinner time by now. He was starving. He moved to look down at his phone again.

Seven minutes had passed.

With a groan he stood up straight, stretching out his limbs before moving to kick once again. But before he could fully extend his leg, his father caught the limb, holding it in between his two hands. Ren’s eyes widened in a brief panic, knowing exactly what was coming. Before he could open his mouth to argue, the man took advantage of Ren’s momentum and swung him downwards, landing his son onto the mat.

“One day you’ll learn that not every fight is about strength.” The martial arts master bent down to meet his son on the floor, staring at him eye-to-eye. “One day you’ll meet someone who fights with their will, not their strength. And you’ll realize you have met your match. And you’ll find your blows softening, despite yourself. I know I did, when I met your mother.”

Ren huffed as Kizaki-san grabbed his arms, hoisting the boy to his feet. He would never end up like his old man. He never once backed down from anyone, and he _never_ softened his blows or held his tongue. And as far as he was concerned, he never would.

But his father only smiled at him, golden eyes crinkling into a smile as he dusted his son off and stepped back. He sighed, deep and tired but still so fond. “Because I’m afraid that if you don’t, you’re only going to end up walking a very, very lonely road.”

\---

Michiru’s shoulder still hurt sometimes.

He tried not to think about the day he was released from the hospital, after that last match. But sometimes he was forced to remember. He’d be dancing and he would twist his arm wrong, and the memories would flood back. He’d remember the botched throw. He’d remember following the opponent down the mat. He’d remember the horrible cracking noise.

And he’d remember the doctors telling him he’d never fight again.

Every single thing he ever worked for, thrown away. Written off as a large number on the bottom of a hospital bill.

And even more than that, he’d remember stumbling down the street, his thoughts swimming aimlessly through his head. He had nothing left. No goals. No aspirations. Nothing connecting him to others. He couldn’t think of a single person to call to drive him home. He knew there were plenty of people willing to help, but not a single name came to mind.  

His mind felt so empty. But his stomach, even more so. His body felt hollow, like he hadn’t eaten in days.

“Eh?! What the heck Shortie!? You’ve barely touched your ramen!” Ren leaned over across the table and looked at the food that Michiru had prepared. “Fine. If you don’t want it, then leave it to the Great Me. Thanks for the meal~” he shouted joyously, reaching over to grab for the bowl.

“Hey! I never said that!” Takeru grabbed for the bowl, pulling it back towards him. Michiru cringed as he watched the broth slosh over the bowl and onto the table. “I was just eating it slowly. Savoring it. I’m not used to eating massive amounts all at once, unlike some pigs I know.”

Ren tugged at the bowl with more force. “What the _hell_ did you just call me?! You don’t even _deserve_ this ramen! Eating fast is the correct way to show appreciation! Everyone knows that!”

Takeru grunted without saying another word, yanking his bowl back to his side of the table. That was the final straw, sending noodles, pork and egg flying all over. Both boys froze, glancing over to Michiru in a panic. The man paused in his eating to watch the whole scene, quietly defeated. He knew he should have broken it up earlier; it just happened so quickly.

Still, he couldn’t help but laugh. It was just so typical of the two. “You two clean up. There’s plenty more where that came from! Ren, would you like seconds while I’m at it?” He stood up and grabbed for his apron, glancing back at the two.

“Duh,” Ren rolled his eyes, scooping the noodles and pork back into the dish while Takeru soaked up the broth with as many napkins as he could find. Takeru looked up at Michiru, mouthing ‘I’m sorry’ quietly, full of shame at his childlike behavior.

Michiru smiled, waving it off gently. He really did have plenty of ingredients. You had to, when feeding these two boys. It was true that Takeru was used to keeping a smaller diet from his boxing days, but he could still match Ren’s voracious appetite bowl for bowl when it came down to it. With those two, Michiru always had to be on his toes, and keep plenty of extra noodles and meat in the apartment.

Still, isn’t that why he wanted to learn how to cook in the first place?

It sounded dramatic to say it, but Man’s Road Ramen saved him that night. The warmth, the taste, the smell. It brought him home when he felt like he had no home left to go to. He wanted to pass that feeling on. But more than that, he didn’t want to feel useless ever again. He didn’t want to be counted out just because he didn’t have judo anymore. He had worked to perfect his art his _whole life,_ but that didn’t mean that there wasn’t something else waiting for him. That single bowl of ramen had reminded him of that.

He hoped Takeru and Ren realized that too. There was always something more out there. There was always something worth hanging onto. Michiru had wanted to change. He didn’t want to walk down that dark path, like he did that night after the hospital, lost and dazed and all alone. He wanted to take a journey with people he could depend on; people who needed him.

He glanced over at his unit mates, arguing and tossing stray noodles at each other. With a soft smile, reached for the spice cabinet and realized his shoulder didn’t ache at all. He couldn’t help but laugh, and wondered fondly if the other two realized how much better this road was now that they were walking it together. 


End file.
